Chương 12: The Neighbor’s Advance

When I stepped across the threshold of the living room, reality glitched for a moment. On my usual couch, surrounded by the lace doilies my mom had embroidered and the floral cushions, sat the neighbor.

Her presence cut through that conservative coziness like a neon sign in an antique shop: her bright pink hair looked like an unnatural stain against the beige wallpaper, and the intricate tattoos winding over the pale skin of her arms sharply contrasted with the delicate handles of the porcelain tea set from which she was sipping.

"Tom," Mom beamed. She was practically glowing with delight at finally having company for her endless tea sessions.

"We've got a guest!"

"I noticed," I said, giving the girl a measured look. The feeling that she was following me with some hidden agenda grew stronger by the second.

"Hi, Tom," she waved casually, not even bothering to set her cup back on the saucer.

"Hello," my voice came out drier than a year old cracker. I shifted my gaze to Mom.

"I wasn't expecting visitors."

"This is a friendly neighborly visit, Thomas. Don't be such a grouch. Look, Stephanie even brought wonderful homemade cookies for tea." Stephanie. So that was her name.

"Got it," I tossed back, already turning to retreat into the safe silence of my room.

"Where do you think you're going, Thomas Ross?" There was a metallic edge in Mom's voice that usually signaled a long lecture on morals.

"Gonna bury yourself in that computer again? We've got a guest in the house, show at least a drop of manners!" I froze. A wave of cold irritation rose inside me.

"Mom, I'm not fifteen anymore, I don't have to entertain your friends on command," I cut her off without turning around.

"Every minute of my time's accounted for. Right now, according to my schedule, I should be studying Spanish." I could practically feel her drilling into my back with an angry stare. A heavy pause settled over the room. To her credit, Stephanie showed unexpected tact: she did not interfere in our little family drama and simply went quiet, trying to blend into the couch upholstery as much as possible. I had already taken a step toward the door, celebrating a small victory, when my brain suddenly issued a warning.

Fatal error. If I pushed Mom into genuine offense right now, she would simply stop cooking. That meant my reactor, which required a colossal number of calories to maintain form and recover after training, would be left without fuel. I would have to cook for myself. Three hours a day at the stove just to avoid collapsing from exhaustion? No, every minute of my day was already planned, and that kind of time loss would be a strategic catastrophe.

I stopped abruptly and slowly turned back, pointedly glancing at the clock.

"On second thought..." I forced out something resembling a conciliatory smile.

"I've got fifteen minutes till eight. I guess I can spare that time for our guest."

"I was actually about to leave in fifteen minutes," Stephanie said with a soft smile, and I noticed the crease of anger on Mom's forehead smooth out instantly. Crisis averted at the last second. Pure tactics. I dropped into the empty armchair, feeling the pleasant ache in my body after the gym. Pouring myself a full glass of milk, I grabbed a chocolate chip cookie. It turned out surprisingly good, crumbly and still carrying a faint hint of vanilla.

"What were you talking about?" I asked, trying to give my voice a casual, social tone.

"About dogs, but I doubt you'd find it interesting," Stephanie replied, watching closely as I drained the glass in three gulps.

"Tom, are you really studying Spanish? Taking it seriously?"

"Sí, amiga," I gave a short nod, enjoying how easily the foreign word rolled off my tongue.

"By the way, Tom, did you know Stephanie has roots in Argentina?" Mom cast the line with such an obvious hint that I almost rolled my eyes.

"You could practice together. Live communication's so important!"

"It wouldn't be any trouble at all for me to set aside a couple of hours a day to help you with pronunciation," the girl confirmed, and for a brief moment something strange flickered in her eyes.

"I'm afraid my level's still too low for full conversations," I deflected the topic tactfully but firmly.

"But I'll remember your offer. Maybe I'll take you up on it later, once I stop mixing up articles."

"Oh, I'm sure that'll happen very soon," Mom said conspiratorially, winking at Stephanie.

"My son has a real talent. He picks everything up instantly, mastering in a single evening what others study for months."

"Must be nice," Stephanie looked at me with a long, studying gaze. It held either genuine respect or a hidden, cold calculation.

"Still, Tom, why do you need Spanish? Planning to rush off to Ibiza or Madrid this summer?"

"The skill's necessary for work," I answered with the plain truth, knowing that the best lie is one built from facts.

"In the near future I'll have to communicate closely with colleagues from Latin America. Business, you know."

"Wow, seriously? Talking with foreigners is insanely cool! Where do you work now?" Her curiosity seemed almost childlike, but I did not let my guard down. Mom, to her great credit, showed remarkable restraint. She pretended to be just as unaware of my activities, giving me room to construct my own cover story.

The old tale about a boring office no longer worked: all week I had been running around the city at all hours, stopped wearing ties, and started to look like someone who spent more time at a shooting range than with Excel sheets.

"I got a very profitable offer from the defense department," I said, not lying a single word again.

"A contract with the army. I'm not allowed to disclose details, you understand, non-disclosure agreement and all that." Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Whoa!" Stephanie's eyes lit up with genuine interest, and she even leaned forward.

"I've seen you disappearing into the gym every day. Is that all because of army requirements?"

"Exactly," I allowed myself a slight smile, realizing this tactic was the perfect shield.

"Our military's introducing new standards now. Even those who sit at computers and handle tactical planning are required to be in excellent physical shape. No exceptions."

"And how did they find you? Did you apply yourself or were you... recruited?" The question sounded too specific, but I answered with a joke that was only partly a joke:"You know, if the army starts looking for you, it usually ends badly. So it's better to think we found each other by mutual agreement." I glanced at the clock deliberately. The second hand had just completed its circle.

"Exactly eight. My apologies, ladies, but duty calls. I just got a new workbook with exercises and I'm eager to try it out." I stood up, feeling the spark of a researcher's passion reignite inside me. A night of study lay ahead, and I had no intention of wasting a single second beyond what etiquette required.

"What a pity," Mom let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh, watching the guest.

"We were sitting so nicely, just getting into the conversation."

"Mrs. Ross, I should be going too," Stephanie rose gracefully from the couch, adjusting the edge of her T-shirt and revealing yet another tattoo on her forearm.

"It was very nice chatting. Maybe we can meet again over a cup of tea sometime?"

"Of course, dear, come by anytime!" Mom radiated such friendliness that the room seemed brighter.

"Good night," I said shortly and closed the door behind her. The click of the lock sounded like the signal marking the end of a round. After those unplanned tea conversations, a cozy but slightly conspiratorial silence settled in the living room. I did not retreat to my room right away and started helping Mom with the dishes. It was our old ritual: she washed, I dried. In moments like that, we always spoke honestly.

"And what was that just now?" Mom broke the silence, handing me the first clean glass, still warm and wet.

"A young, beautiful, vibrant girl's practically throwing herself at you, and you're standing there looking like you've got a toothache. You're acting so cold the room's about to frost over."

"You noticed that too?" I carefully took the glass with a towel, wiping away the drops.

"She's going out of her way to talk to me."

"Tom, only a blind man or a complete idiot would miss her moves," Mom snorted, working up foam on the sponge.

"Do you seriously think a girl with those looks and an active social life would visit an old hag like me just for neighborly support? Don't make me laugh. Stephanie came here solely because of you, and it was written all over her forehead in big letters." I could not help but smile. I had always liked talking to Mom like this, without unnecessary formalities, like with a good friend. We had always understood each other easily, even when I was an unbearable teenager.

"And while you were gone, she was practically bombarding me with questions," Mom handed me the next plate.

"What you like, what music you listen to, what movies you enjoy... She couldn't take her eyes off you, Tom, and you switched into old tree mode. Honestly, I don't get you."

"Free cheese is only found in a mousetrap," I muttered, methodically polishing the plate until it squeaked.

"We've been living here for several years. Not one year, not two. And all that time she barely noticed me, hardly even said hello outside. And now suddenly, for several days in a row, she won't leave me alone. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you? I'm sure she's up to something."

"Of course she's got a motive!" Mom looked at me as if I were a naive child who still believed in the tooth fairy.

"A woman never starts clinging to a man that persistently without a hidden agenda. I'm telling you this as a woman with a lot of experience. Just imagine it: she decided to reach out to me, your mother, to test the waters and build a connection. The girl's clearly determined and not afraid of difficulties."

"Exactly! That's what I've been saying. Stephanie obviously wants something from me," I said, lifting my chin in triumph.

"Naturally she does, but it's nowhere near as sinister as you've imagined in your head," Mom shook her head, rinsing the foam off the last plate.

"She's single, and finding promising men in our surroundings is nearly impossible. She wants to get married, have children, and time's ticking. Women, unlike you men, don't improve with age like fine wine. We've got to act decisively."

"She's only in her early twenties, right?" I frowned, trying to recall her age.

"She's twenty-six, actually. Right in her prime, but the warning bells are already ringing."

"Well, thirty's still far away. Isn't it too early for her to start panicking and throwing herself at neighbors?"

"Tom, let me tell you a little secret you seem to've missed: there are plenty of men in the world, but truly promising ones are extremely rare. That's why smart women latch onto an interesting neighbor before someone else snatches him away."

"Mom, are you serious right now?" I put the dishes into the cabinet and turned to her.

"I'm thirty-two, living in the same apartment as my mother. What could possibly be so interesting about me for someone like her?"

"That's how you see it from your own perspective," she began rinsing the sponge thoroughly, looking out the window at the city lights.

"Now try to look at it from another angle. A man in his prime, with his own place, stability, and apparently a very decent job. In the eyes of any sensible girl, you're an ideal candidate for a husband and a father. Besides, you've changed a lot for the better lately." I froze.

"What do you mean?"

"That constant gray exhaustion's gone from your face," Mom turned to me, studying my features carefully.

"Your skin's clearer, your gaze sharper. Even the way you move's changed, more confident. There's some kind of inner strength in you now that women can sense from a mile away." I glanced at my reflection in the curved side of a clean glass. The surface was distorted, but even there I could see she was right. My features had become harder, more resolute. Apparently, the systematic training and the absence of draining office drudgery were working like a powerful magnet.

Happy and strong people always attract others, that is a law of nature.

"By the way, what you said about working with the army was a masterstroke," Mom turned off the water and dried her hands.

"Women have always liked men in uniform or connected to power structures. The army sounds reliable, prestigious, and high status. Stephanie will pursue you even more now, don't doubt it."

"You think I shouldn't have said that? That I overshared?"

"Tom," she stepped closer and looked straight into my eyes, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Remind me, how many years has it been since you've had a proper relationship?" I looked away.

"Five years."

"There you go. And now a young, beautiful, clearly interested girl's practically falling into your hands. What is there to even think about? Take the chance while it's there."

"What if I... well, don't like pink hair?" I muttered, realizing it sounded like the dumbest and most childish excuse in the world. Mom smirked as she headed out of the kitchen.

"I'm not a fan of that color either. But in the end, Thomas, any dye washes out. What matters is what's underneath." She left, and I was alone with a mountain of thoughts. I stood in the quiet kitchen, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, weighing my options. What if Mom was right? Maybe I really should try going out with Stephanie. Yes, her persistence was a bit intimidating and felt like a sprint toward the altar, but I was an adult. I was not obligated to propose on the first date.

And if we did not get along or she turned out to be too exhausting, well, I would still have a solid bonus. With her Argentine roots, I could push my Spanish to near native level in record time. The pragmatist inside me nodded in satisfaction. I turned off the light and headed to my room. Tomorrow would bring a new day, new training sessions, and possibly new adventures with the persistent neighbor.